


Holiday Season

by Lisa_Telramor



Category: Magic Kaito
Genre: Baking, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Eve, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 17:19:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13128180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisa_Telramor/pseuds/Lisa_Telramor
Summary: Saguru gets a surprise visitor while he's doing his holiday baking.





	Holiday Season

**Author's Note:**

> I'm weirdly enamored with the idea of Saguru baking. This is the second fic I've written with him baking... Felt like doing a holiday fic this year, so Merry Christmas if you celebrate it, happy Holiday Season if you don't, and may the new year bring better news than so much of this one.

Saguru surveyed the ingredients laid out on the counter, flour and sugar and eggs and a pound of butter all waiting to be made into something. Mum’s family recipe box with its dented corners and stiff hinges was open next to it. Ordinarily he would take what recipe he needed and shove it back into its cupboard, but there was an art to holiday baking, a process. Gran had always had a very specific order of baking her Christmastime goodies in order of what ingredients were used, whether there was a refrigeration period or not, and how long each batch needed in the oven. Mum tended to toss Gran’s careful methodology out the window and start whatever took her fancy at the moment, but Saguru had always preferred a more scientific—or at least methodical—approach to baking. It made the process go smoother and quicker and optimized resources.

He gathered what he needed to prep the [mince palmiers](http://www.greatbritishchefs.com/recipes/mini-mincemeat-puff-pastry) first, turned back toward the recipe with a package of puff pastry in one hand and a jar of mince in the other and found Kuroba Kaito sitting at the kitchen table like he had been there the whole time. Saguru very carefully did not drop his ingredients, but set them on the counter with an extra bit of carefulness as he processed this addition to his environment.

“What,” Saguru asked, “are you doing in London?”

“You’re baking? I didn’t know you baked,” Kuroba said, sounding exhausted.

“It’s the holidays,” Saguru said. “Kuroba, why are you in my kitchen?”

“You see it was a bit of an accident and now I’m here and have time and hey, you live in London, so hi.” He gave a lazy salute, resting his chin on folded arms. He looked awfully content considering he was trespassing.

“You accidentally ended up in another country.”

“There were...” Kuroba waved a hand. “Extenuating circumstances involving keeping track of a weird kid and following up on a rumor and, well, here I am. You would not believe how expensive holiday plane tickets are.”

“I believe.” The real question was why Kuroba wasn’t taking a plane back to Japan already. Knowing Kuroba, he wouldn’t answer any questions directly though, and if Saguru even implied that it might have something to do with Kid, his insinuations would be deflected. It should probably alarm him more to have his classmate show up halfway around the world in Saguru’s kitchen, but it was just the sort of unexpected thing Kuroba would pull. Saguru gave a mental shrug and turned back to his baking. “Well, you’re just in time for holiday baking.”

“I can’t believe you bake.”

“It’s tradition,” Saguru said primly. “Gran started it, and Mum would be here for it, but her job has been a bit more hectic than usual lately. I thought I’d get a head start so no one would complain come Christmas that Gran’s ginger biscuits were missing.”

“What’s your mom do?” Kuroba asked. Saguru could feel his eyes following the motions as Saguru rolled out his puff pastry and opened the jar of mincemeat.

“She’s a psychologist.” Kuroba hummed like this explained things. Saguru spread mince along the pastry dough. “That’s how my parents met, actually. A criminal psychology talk at a Japanese university. Mum was studying abroad for a year in her undergrad and Otou-san was there as a secondary speaker on statistics of mental illness intersecting with violent crimes in Japan. That was long before he was a police commissioner of course.” Saguru rolled the dough, wrapped it, and put it in the freezer before grabbing a pot and the butter to start the [florentines](http://www.greatbritishchefs.com/recipes/florentines-recipe). “They talked after and got into a big row over drinks about whether criminal behaviors were nature or nurture. It must have been a good debate because Mum finished out her degree in Japan and married him within the year.”

“Huh.” Kuroba blinked sleepily at him. Butter, cream, sugar, and honey in a pot, chop the fruit as it heated, stand by with the flour and almonds. “Then they had you?”

“Eventually. After Mum got her doctorate and Otou-san got a promotion. They had rather different ideas about raising a child though. They’re divorced now, of course, but I was born and raised until elementary school in Japan.” Ordinarily Saguru didn’t talk about himself. He focused on cases he solved instead of his personal life, and that was as it should be. But with Kuroba in his kitchen and infiltrating his Christmas tradition, it felt fitting to give Kuroba a bit of background to go with everything. Kuroba knew Saguru the detective, but he never really interacted with Saguru the person. ...Saguru’s fault. He tended to see Kuroba-as-Kid rather than Kuroba-as-person as well.

“Why’d they divorce?” Kuroba asked. For all that he looked tired, he also looked interested.

“Cultural and career differences.” Mum wanted more than society wanted for her, and in the end she’d missed home. It had been an amicable split all things considered. “I visited Otou-san in the summer.” Ingredients combined, Saguru prepared several trays to pop in the oven. “How did your parents meet?”

“Oyaji met Kaa-san in Paris, saved her from a sticky situation, and swept her off her feet.”

“Hmm. Sounds exciting.” And lacking in details. It probably involved Kid. Clean a bit before the next bit. New bowl for the [ginger biscuit](http://www.greatbritishchefs.com/recipes/ginger-christmas-biscuits-recipe) dough, pop out one batch of florentines to cool and put in the next tray, repeat until done and pull out the palmier to slice.

“You’re actually good at this,” Kuroba commented as Saguru swapped florentines for sugar-spice dusted palmier rounds in the oven.

“Baking’s a science,” Saguru said with a nod to the kitchen scale. “Apply the proper ratios and required heat, get the desired result. Simple chemistry.” He nicked one of the cooler florentines, enjoying its buttery flavor. “And it is its own reward.”

“I can get behind that.” Kuroba gave himself a shake and stood. “Mind if I help?”

“Eat the results or help bake?” Saguru asked rhetorically. He held out the recipe card for ginger biscuits. “Start measuring the dry ingredients. I’m sure you can manage that.”

“I’ve baked before, Hakuba, I’m not going to ruin your cookies.”

Saguru pretended he didn’t notice another florentine go missing. It was surprisingly easy to work with Kuroba in the kitchen. He was quick to figure out what Saguru would need next and didn’t end up in Saguru’s way unlike the time Saguru tried baking with his aunt.

In no time the ginger dough was in refrigerator and Kuroba was measuring out flour for the [shortbread](https://www.thespruce.com/traditional-rich-scottish-shortbread-recipe-435822) dough. “Is it always so... streamlined?” Kuroba asked, waving his free hand at the neat stacks of finished baked goods and how Saguru had a bit of counter space set aside for each necessary step for each recipe.

“Hardly. Mum has the tendency to grab whatever recipe she finds first and make each one in succession. It goes faster this way though.”

“Huh. I haven’t baked since Aoko roped me into making a Christmas cake a few years ago,” Kuroba said. “That was...an experience.” He was very precise in his weight measurements, which Saguru could appreciate. He could picture Kuroba measuring chemicals for his flash bombs or smoke grenades with an equally intent expression, getting each ratio on the dot. “Baking’s not something that happens much.”

Saguru took the flour from him, blending it with sugar and butter mixture. “If it weren’t for the holiday tradition, I doubt it would happen much for me either.” Mum made him a birthday cake every year, but store bought biscuits were simpler to get ahold of with their busy lives than to take the time to bake anything by hand. Traditions were different though. Those demanded observation, all the more so since his grandmother had passed on. A way to keep her memory alive so to speak. “What do you do for holidays?”

“For Christmas?” Kuroba asked. “Not really something I celebrate unless Aoko wants to.”

“In general then.” Saguru turned out the dough and held out a hand for the rolling pin. Kuroba passed it to him without him needing to ask.

“We don’t really have traditions.” There was something flat in Kuroba’s tone, just missing the nonchalance he was going for. “We used to maybe, but those kind of stopped happening after my dad died.”

“Oh.” Saguru finished rolling dough to a stilted silence. It had almost been companionable until he’d bungled that up. Saguru almost wished Kuroba would fall into their usual mode of bickering and needling each other instead of this silence, but Kuroba just stood to the side, face in a neutral-pleasant mask and eyes tired. Saguru needed to fix this somehow.

The bag of pastry cutters had the usual Christmas shapes of stars and trees and deer and men, but there were other shapes in there too, meant for other holidays, and...yes, they did still have it. Saguru dropped a pastry cutter into Kuroba’s hands.

“A... four-leaf clover?” Kuroba said, turning it over.

“I thought you might appreciate the pun,” Saguru said. And it was Kid’s mark as well, a sideways nod of acknowledgement that at least in one way there was a family tradition of sorts. “It was meant for St. Patrick’s Day I believe, but it works well enough now on these too.”

“Because clovers scream Christmas,” Kuroba snarked. He accepted the cutter though, making a few shapes in the dough. Saguru chose stars and trees for the shortbread. The ginger biscuits could be men and reindeer.

They shared bits of dough scraps as they baked, a surprisingly companionable silence. Kuroba was still, as tired as when he had arrived, but more peaceful and less harried. He rolled a bit of dough into a ball and ate it, staring at nothing and his mind somewhere far away. It was rare to see an introspective Kuroba, as rare as a quiet Kuroba. Kuroba was energy and madcap chaos. Bright colors and flashing cards drawing the eye, always filling a room with his presence and impossible to ignore.

“Following a lead, hmm?” Saguru asked.

“If you’re trying to get me to confess to something...” Kuroba said, glancing at Saguru from the corner of his eye.

“At the moment, no. It’s poor timing though.”

Kuroba shrugged. “As good a time as any. No classwork to worry about coming due until January. Bit more than a week away leaves plenty of time.”

“Was your lead successful?”

There was the slightest slump to Kuroba’s shoulders, body hunching in on itself as if Kuroba was too tired to completely control his response. Saguru got another shrug. “What do you think?”

Right. That would be a touchy subject then. He cast about for something that wouldn’t ruin the somewhat comfortable atmosphere. “I went to see a magic show last week,” Saguru said.

“Yeah?” Kuroba stopped squishing cookie dough between his fingers to listen, head tilted to one side. “I thought you detective types hated magic shows.”

“It’s a lot harder to get caught up in them when you’re well aware that there’s a logical explanation for everything you’re seeing,” Saguru corrected. “That doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate a show.” He ignored the subtle eye roll from Kuroba. “At any rate, I was in the area for a case and had free time after it... I might have been feeling a bit nostalgic for Japan at the time.” He’d only gone to Kuroba’s school for half a year before transferring back to London, but it surprised him sometimes how much he missed it. Sometimes he wondered if he should just finish out high school there, but he knew he’d miss London too. There wasn’t a quick fix when your life took up time on different sides of the world. He checked the biscuits, found they needed a bit longer. “The magician was nowhere near as good as you. Your classroom antics were on par with his best illusions.”

“Of course, I’m one of the best magicians out there,” Kuroba said.

It wasn’t empty bragging any more than Saguru calling himself a good detective was. They’d both put effort and time into building up their skills in their chosen professions. “If you’re ever on stage one day, I would like to see what you perform.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“You can take it as one,” Saguru said. “I can’t exactly turn off my observations.” He took the biscuits from the oven and slid the parchment paper off onto wire racks to cool. When he turned back around, Kuroba had a grin on par to some of the ones Saguru had seen Kid sporting at heists. “What?”

“Just thinking about ways I could short circuit your brain into just enjoying the show instead of picking it apart.”

Saguru raised an eyebrow. “And I just said that trying to understand doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy the show. Besides, what goes through your mind when you see a new trick? Surely you’re trying to figure out how they did it too.”

“Usually I’m mostly ‘dang, that was really cool’ and I think about how they did it _after_ the show is over.” Kuroba brought out the ginger biscuit dough and armed himself with the rolling pin.

“After, during,” Saguru said with a dismissive wave. “It amounts to the same thing; trying to understand the mystery of how it worked.”

“Killjoy,” Kuroba said.

“Realist,” Saguru countered.

“You’ll have to come back to Japan sometime for that show.”

Saguru smiled. “Yes, I suppose I will.”

The rest of the baking went quickly and progressed into decorating shortbread and ginger biscuits with Gran’s icing recipe dyed in jewel-bright colors. Kuroba took an inordinate amount of pleasure in making the ones he decorated as bright as possible. He was artistic as was to be expected, and they came out pleasing to the eye. Saguru’s were less bright, but more uniform. ‘Boring,’ if Kuroba’s opinion counted. Saguru looked at them and saw ‘traditional.’

By the time Mum finally arrived home from work, he and Kuroba had decorated cookies spread across the whole kitchen table and were making a bit of a mess out of decorating the Christmas cake as Saguru found that using a pastry bag was a bit harder than he remembered last doing it at twelve with Gran’s hands guiding his through the motions—the cake was usually Mum’s touch. Kuroba had taken over and the mess Saguru made was quickly becoming something a bit more elegant.

They both looked up when Mum walked into the room. “Wow. Looks like someone was busy,” she said. “How on earth did you manage to get all the holiday baking done in one afternoon?”

“It’s not that hard to do, Mum, Gran always managed.”

“Your grandmother could have forced time to bend for all I know. She was certainly stubborn enough.” Mum gave Saguru a quick hug before turning to Kuroba. “Hullo, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

In a blink Kuroba was all charm, masks Saguru hadn’t even realized were gone back in place. With a flick of his wrist, Kuroba offered Saguru’s mother a flower. “Kuroba Kaito—or Kaito Kuroba since this is England.” He spoke with slightly accented English; Kuroba must have been practicing his language skills lately since the last time Saguru heard him use English, it hadn’t been anywhere near as smoothly. “A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Mum took the flower with a smile and both eyebrows disappearing into her bangs. “Well aren’t you the charmer. Saguru, you didn’t mention you were having a friend over.”

“Kuroba ran into some trouble with his flight home to Japan,” Saguru said, “and since I happened to live in London, it made more sense to stay the night here than in a hotel. He’ll be taking the guest room.” There was a flash of surprise on Kuroba’s face. Surely he didn’t think Saguru would toss him out? On Christmas Eve no less?

“A friend from Japan even,” Mum said, eyebrows creeping higher. “Well, whatever the circumstances, we’re glad to have you. Mind if I help finish up the cake? Can’t have you boys doing everything.”

Kuroba surrendered the frosting. “Go right ahead.”

“Lovely. I’ll finish this up and we can have a slice for breakfast in the morning.”

“Isn’t that a little...sweet?” Kuroba asked. He watched how her hands worked, making practiced dollops of frosting to create a snowy landscape out of Saguru’s messy work and Kuroba’s more careful waves.

“I was thinking a bit more on the alcohol content,” Saguru said.

“The point of holidays are to live a little,” Mum said pragmatically. “Why not have dessert to start the day? Or we could have some of your biscuits. Very nice decorating by the way. Bright. I can tell Saguru didn’t mix the colors this year.” She gave Kuroba a grin and a wink and started sculpting tiny snowmen.

“Boozy cake,” Kuroba said, eying the cake with new appreciation. “That’s a tradition I could get behind. Sounds a lot more fun than strawberry cream cake or a cake roll.”

“It’s funny how two of the traditional desserts require taking as much candied fruit and nuts as you can stuff into a confection and dousing it in copious amounts of alcohol,” Saguru said drily. “For the record, it’s peach brandy, and no, we don’t make it strong enough to get drunk off a slice of it.”

“Dang, a missed opportunity,” Kuroba deadpanned.

Mum laughed. “I like this one, Saguru, you’ll have to invite him back.”

“Of course.” He...wouldn’t mind Kuroba returning. This had been nice.

“Don’t worry about the last of the dishes,” Mum said with a nod at the few Saguru hadn’t cleaned up as he went. “I can do them. Go relax since you did all this work.” Said the woman who worked a ten hour day today, Saguru thought, but Mum did like frosting the cake and he knew the power of small, mindless tasks to unwind after a long day. “And Kuroba, you’re welcome here as long as you need to stay, ok?”

“Thanks.”

Saguru meant to leave Kuroba at the guest room, let him get the rest he clearly needs, but instead found himself lingering awkwardly in the doorway after pointing out where Kuroba could find things he might need.

Kuroba looked back at him, not seeming to feel that same awkwardness or uncertainty of what, exactly, they were—friends? Rivals? Acquaintances? He looked like he was trying to will Saguru’s motives from him by power of his gaze alone, and wasn’t that something of a role reversal.

Saguru cleared his throat. “You...probably could use some rest. I’ll just be—”

“Hakuba,” Kuroba said, cutting him off. “Why did you go back to London?”

Saguru blinked, startled. “Why?”

“You went through the trouble of transferring schools and getting into the police and everything,” Kuroba said. “Seems like a lot of effort just to chase Kid for a few months.”

There were no emotions slipping past Kuroba’s masks now, whatever relaxed state of mind he had had was lost when Mum arrived. When Saguru was in Japan, his life had been taken up by Nakamori’s loud, vicious enthusiasm as he chased Kid in the evenings and days spent in class observing Kuroba laughing, Kuroba flirting with Aoko, Kuroba avoiding Koizumi, Kuroba hiding the depth of his brilliance in flashy smiles and flashy tricks. He’d seen Kuroba joyful, jealous, angry, and nervous. He’d seen Kid triumphant and gloating and seen him pale with fear and regret. There was a phone call on a Paris morning and a lone glove hidden at the scene of a crime. Most people thought arrogance was Saguru’s biggest flaw as a detective, but Saguru knew it was too much empathy. He avoided most serial crime, worked murders because it was generally easier to have sympathy for the victim than the killer, and Kid had always been careful not to harm the officers that chased him, tried to keep property damage to a minimum, and almost always returned what he took. He might not know what Kid was trying to accomplish, but he knew it was something Kid felt deeply in enough to make a target of himself even if it sometimes terrified him. He knew Kuroba enough to say he was not a bad person.

Saguru looked away. “I never intended to stay in Japan,” he said, an honest answer if not a complete one. “And I had obligations here to fulfil.”

“Like baking holiday cookies.”

A tiny smile crossed his face without him meaning to. “Yes, like holiday baking.”

“Hmm,” Kuroba hummed like he didn’t believe that was all but he wasn’t going to push it. “Would you really invite me back?”

“Yes,” Saguru said. There was no hesitation in that at least. “I don’t mind you being here.”

“Don’t mind,” Kuroba parroted, sarcastic and slow. “Ringing endorsement that you want me here.”

Saguru rolled his eyes. “Fine. I enjoyed baking with you and would enjoy doing something similar again should the occasion arise.”

The mask split into a smile—a real one so far as Saguru could tell. “Cool. Thanks for the room. I am going to go pass out now.”

There was an awkward pause before Saguru realized he was still standing in the doorway. He stepped back. “Goodnight, Kuroba.”

“Night, Hakuba.” Kuroba waved and shut the door.

Saguru wandered back down to Mum.

“Not spending time with your friend?” she asked. She was working her way through dishes now, the cake fully frosted with little details added on with nonpareils and gel icing. Two smiling snowmen surrounded by flowers made of snow.

“I believe he’s tired.”

“Hmm.” The soothing clink of dishes and the hiss of water from the faucet. Familiar background noises in a kitchen filled with Kuroba’s unfamiliarly-bright frosted biscuits. “Are the clovers a pun on his name?” Mum asked, a nod to the unconventional shape for the season.

“I thought it might amuse him.”

“He seems nice enough, though I don’t think he trusts me.” She kept washing dishes, not giving Saguru and facial cues to draw from. “He’s very good at hiding what he’s feeling, isn’t he? If I hadn’t glanced around the corner before I entered the room, I wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Yes. He is good at that.” Saguru sat at the table. Mum rinsed the last dish, setting it on the drain board and wiped her hands dry.

“So one of your Japanese classmates just happens to be in London.”

“A pleasant surprise.”

“I think you mentioned a Kuroba before.”

“I may have.”

Mum planted her hands on her hips. “Saguru...”

Saguru rubbed his forehead. “I didn’t press for details. He showed up and I wasn’t going to turn him away.”

“It would be a bit rude at Christmas,” Mum said and he wasn’t sure if it was straight sincerity or subtle sarcasm. She sighed. “Well, he is welcome, whatever his reasons. And he’s welcome at the family party tomorrow as well if he sticks around.”

“Thank you.”

Mum patted his cheek affectionately. “Now, I can’t believe you didn’t leave any baking for me!”

Saguru huffed. “If I didn’t the baking, you’d still be baking by Christmas.”

“A bit of midnight baking never hurt anyone.”

“Last year you were at it at three in the morning.”

“Saguru, if you say I have poor time management skills again...”

Saguru gave her his best innocent look. It wouldn’t have fooled him, let alone his mother. The hand on his cheek became a light swat to the back of his head and he ducked with it, laughing. They talked about their day until it was time for bed, snitching biscuits to munch on without guilt. Holidays were for indulging.

There was no light on in Kuroba’s room showing in the crack under the door when Saguru passed the guest room. He said a quiet goodnight in its direction all the same.

*

In the morning, Saguru couldn’t say he was surprised to find the guest room empty. Everything was neatly folded back in place as if no one had ever been there, except for a used towel where Kuroba must have made use of the shower. Downstairs there were a handful of biscuits missing and a tiny, presumptuous sliver taken from the Christmas cake that had been filled in with icing to the point where it was almost unnoticeable. On the counter was a note on the nice stationary they had stashed in the guest room’s desk and another one of Kuroba’s pretty paper roses.

_Hakuba,_

_Thanks for letting me spend the night and crash your baking. You’re not so bad after all. Sorry to up and leave without saying goodbye, but I had a plane to catch early in the morning. Funnily, Christmas Day tickets cost a lot less than Christmas Eve. Tell your mom thanks for me as well, and that that cake is good—very alcoholic and different, but good. I looked Christmas cakes up on my phone and wow, didn’t know aged cakes were a thing. Anyway, if I’m ever in London again let’s meet up. And if you’re in Japan and ever need somewhere to sleep that isn’t your home, I have a guest room too._

_Merry Christmas!_

It was signed with a little clover doodle. It felt like he should be comparing handwriting with Kid’s heist notes. On the back was a post script, written in cramped Japanese that Saguru had to squint at to read.

_Check in the electric kettle. This is still not a confession._

Saguru checked the kettle.

There was a gemstone there, a sapphire set in delicate golden filigree. It wasn’t anything Saguru had heard reported stolen, and was willing to bet he would hear about in the next few days.

Really, now, Kuroba wasn’t even trying to pretend at all. A tiny irrational part of him felt a bit warm at the thought that he had a bit of Kuroba’s trust. Saguru pocketed the gem and scribbled out the message in Japanese on the back. It might take Mum a bit longer to read, but she was still fluent in Japanese.

Not a bit too soon, it seemed because Mum slouched into the kitchen, in full disarray as she always was before her first cup of tea. “No Kuroba?” she asked, blinking around the room sleepily.

Saguru held up the note. “It seemed he had a plane to catch.”

“Ah. I’d have sent him off with something if I knew.”

Saguru would wait until she noticed the missing sliver of cake to pass along Kuroba’s message.

“Happy Christmas,” Mum said on her way to fill up the electric kettle—if Mum had been the one to wake up first.... It was just like Kuroba to have luck in his favor.

“Happy Christmas.”

Perhaps, Saguru thought giving the note in his hand one last glance, he would have to have another trip to Japan before his usual one in the summer. Just to visit.

It couldn’t hurt to check in on what Kid was doing either.

Saguru smiled and tucked the note away.

**Author's Note:**

> I literally just googled some popular recipes so... hopefully some of the ones linked (provided the links work) are good it anyone tries them


End file.
